Consolation
by Maegquareiel
Summary: Suspian. Movieverse. After the battle, Susan tries to find a moment of peace.
1. Chapter 1

He found her weeping.

She was hunched low to the ground, her body curled into itself, the laces of her leather bodice half-undone and the quiver of red-feathered arrows tossed in a heap on the riverbank. The river's noise stifled the sounds of her sadness, but her thin shoulders shook heavily and one leather-braced hand covered her mouth, desperate and trembling.

She had not meant to be seen this way, had not wanted to be found or helped. What good would it serve for Queen Susan, the warrior-archer, to be seen half-undressed and sobbing? She had not always needed to respond fiercely in battle. But when the enemy called for it, she became a soldier, willing to bloody and be bloodied with those loyal to the thrones of Narnia. This day was no different. She'd become a general easily enough, saw friends and patriots fall to the sword and did not pause to mourn them.

But at the battle's end, after giving a victory cry, she had walked away from the battlefield to be alone. This was her way. It always had been. She would shed the war pain with cleansing tears and immerse herself in the clean riverwater, emerging the Gentle Queen.

Her fingers had fumbled with the armor for only a moment before she'd sunk to the ground and allowed the mourning to flow from her. And then he had come, the soft lines of his face creased in worry.

She was weak now. Weak and tired and bruised. The strength to reassure someone just simply was not to be found. So as he took a step toward her, one hand reaching forward, she opened her mouth to stop him.

But the words did not come. He was not reaching out to embrace her, not even to touch her. He was kneeling behind her, his hands brushing against her back as he deftly loosened the laces before pulling them free of their loops. He pulled the armor from her shoulders and laid it with the quiver before hesitantly reaching down her torso to unhook the clasps of her maille tunic.

Dimly she was aware that this should embarrass her, that a man who, only hours before, had made her heart race, was steadily undressing her. She could not fool herself so as to ignore the way his palms had briefly pressed against her belly as he removed her armor or the way he'd leaned in close as he'd knelt behind her. But she was profoundly weary, weary enough to allow herself to just enjoy his ministrations without the restraints of logic or rationalization. She shivered as his graceful fingers threaded through her hair, subtly massaging her scalp as he loosed it from its plaits and fanned it over her back before reaching down her forearm to remove her bracer. His fingers traced the length of hers for just a moment, a heartbeat, a breath, but long enough to set her skin to gooseflesh. He was facing her now, his eyes questioning and deep, asking permission as his touch skimmed over her knee and down to her ankle, sliding her skirt upwards over her thigh to gently tug the calf-length boots off.

She sat armorless, trembling, in her bare feet, her naked toes somehow surprisingly revealing and locked eyes with him. What she saw there made her hands clench.

"Thank you," she said quietly, the salt of long-dry tears tight on her cheeks. "I………need to be alone now."

He nodded, a flash of sadness in his eyes for a moment, then stood and walked away.

She felt his loss like an ache the instant he left. But she was never one to question her own decisions, so she stood hastily, stripped off her gown and chemise and plunged into the cool water.

He had to tighten his hands to white-knuckled fists to keep them from trembling as he took hesitant steps away from her. Gods, what had possessed him to intrude on such an obviously private moment? Intrude?! He'd undressed her! But though the fact made his face hot, he could not bring himself to regret. The shapely circle of her waist had begged to be released from its armor. The long curve of her neck had been meant to be touched. The scent of her hair, the bend of her forearm, gods, even the wiggle of her toes had set him ablaze with want.

She was not the first girl……woman he had ever desired. But he was not fool enough to dismiss his feelings as a blaze of boyish lust. When he'd decided to help her undress, it had been out of a genuine need to ease her suffering, to comfort and soothe. He'd never seen her look so unbearably lost before and it had set his heart hurting immediately. What did it matter that what had started out so innocently had become something more? No matter how he searched, he felt only a total lack of remorse over his actions.

He knew that his wandering feet needed to take him back to Aslan's How to prepare for the inevitable victory feast. But the woods beckoned him with their golden effulgence. Surely no one would deny their new King an hour's respite after a fierce and bloody battle. He needed time to clear his memory of the gentle openness of her, the heart wrenching honesty in her gaze. When he saw her at table, he could not allow himself to betray his burgeoning feelings.

His thoughts drifted aimlessly as he walked, neither knowing nor caring where he was. He thought briefly on his coronation, on which lands would belong to his reign and which would be controlled by the Kings and Queens of Old. He wondered at the reappearance of Aslan and his newfound friendship with creatures whose existence he'd never really believed in. For nearly an hour, his thoughts were free of her. But when his booted feet sunk heavily into river sand and the roar of water beat into his senses, he realized with a start that he'd walked a slow, languid circle.

She was here, though not as he'd left her. Her eyes locked on to his and he could not look away though every fiber of his being told him he must. He waited for a sign from her but she made none until she sighed deeply and with a touch of mirth said,

"Oh, Caspian."

She'd heard him coming as he neared the riverbank but there was nothing to be done about it. Water did not do much for cover and her clothes were too far to reach. She thought briefly about making a dash for them, but then she would look caught and foolish. Perhaps it was better to feign total confidence. So when he came into view, she dropped her body slightly lower into the water and then waited for his eyes to find hers.

When she said his name, it surprised even her. But it seemed right to say it. She watched his body tense at the sound of it and he took a step closer. She did not back away. Could not. Nor could she bring herself to cover her body when the heat in his eyes was like reverence and the warmth in her belly was a dull throb that ached so excitingly she could only gasp against it. She was embarrassed, shaking, but unable to tear her eyes from his. She stood from the water, feeling his eyes follow the rivulets of it as it poured over her skin, and walked toward him. The air was cool on her but she was burning. The trail of his gaze was like a caress and he did not seem ashamed at the way he openly outlined her body with his eyes. Her gown and chemise lay in a pile at his feet and he bent to retrieve them. There was no uncertainty in his face, no embarrassment or dismay. Only an emotion she was afraid to give a name to.

She stopped a hand's breadth away from him and could only reach for her gown, pulling it quickly over her head. She remembered the confidence of being an adult but the shy doubt of fragile teenage years warred within her and she blushed. She could not bring herself to look at him but she slowly raised one hand and put it flat against his chest, feeling the heat and heartbeat of him. It intoxicated.

But his fingers pushed against her chin and raised her eyes. The warmth of his honey-accented words washed over as he said, "They will want us at banquet, my Queen."

There was an edge to the words, hot and mellow, and her insides purred at it.

"So they will," she whispered. "Shall we go?"

He smiled warmly and offered his arm. She took it, her hands clasping tight around it.

Hours later, the feast spread in front of them, she knew he was toying with her. Every movement of his hands, every word, every smile seemed meant for her. She was naked under his stare again, certain that he could see through the heavy layers of silk and velvet she'd so meticulously put on tonight. She'd worn forest colors. Secretly she'd hoped to match him.

He knew she was toying with him. Every toss of her hair, every pout, every graceful gesture seemed meant for him. She was trying to remind him of the spans of creamy skin he'd seen earlier, he was certain of it. The greens she wore brought out the freckles on her cheeks and the sun-touched red in her hair. He'd worn similar colors to table, to remind her of their moments together earlier.

She wondered absently if he would remember her tears or if he would only think of her as a silly girl with no modesty, playing at being a water nymph. She'd not gone to the river to seduce him. He had only chanced upon her. But she did not regret it. Not at all.

He mused silently over her delicate shyness and open emotion and wondered how she saw him. Was he the man who had chanced upon a moment of sadness and moved to ease it? Or was he the man who had ogled the body she had only inadvertently shown to him? But he did not regret it. Not at all.

She had to know what he thought.

He had to know what she thought.

Her eyes searched for his.

His eyes searched for hers.

She smiled slowly.

He nodded.

They left table as quietly as they'd come, leaving laughter and battle songs behind them.

Thoughts? This was written for a drabble contest. I'm thinking I want to take it further, but I honestly am not sure.


	2. Chapter 2

She walked two steps ahead of him, a thick line of moonlight leading her from Aslan's How. She inhaled deeply of the scent of trampled grass and old stone, her breaths shaking as she struggled to calm herself. The empty battlefield was oddly eerie in the silver-hued light of early evening and she pressed herself into the crumbled stone of the ancient walls, her heart pounding and her mouth dry. He was quiet, watching her, his hands balled into fists at his sides. He looked so assured of himself and yet, so young, so cautious. Something in her suspected that his calm confidence was a carefully constructed façade.

He was as uncertain as she was.

She turned her body toward him, one hand still anchored to the stone.

"I never meant to……..I didn't mean to……….."

He was laughing at her, she was sure of it. How could he not be? Frustrated and embarrassed she sighed, rolled her eyes at her own ineptitude, stamped her foot and said,

"I didn't mean for you to see……me this afternoon. But I'm not sorry you did."

The words came unexpectedly and she had to stifle the urge to clap a hand over her mouth. She had not meant to say that. Not at all. But she did. And she felt better for it.

There was intensity all about him as he closed the distance between them and took her hand, removing it from its tenuous hold on the stone wall. His face was flushed and his eyes dark as he said, "I am not sorry either."

The words were said softly; she could almost see them rumbling in his throat, coating themselves in the sibilance of his people's accent. But their softness turned the air in her lungs to smoke and her own exhalations were heady with excitement and fear. He had not meant to be lewd, she was sure of that. Though she saw desire and passion in every line of him, there was also innocence and trepidation. They had both opened themselves up and the honesty of it rocked her. He had stumbled upon her, naked and very much surprised, but he was not sorry.

_He was not sorry._

"Alright," she said, the word tasting foolish on her tongue, but she had no others to supply in its place. The word gastrovascular came to mind, but that was all, and she giggled inwardly at the out of place memory.

He was still holding her hand, his thumb stroking the inside of her palm.

"Alright," he answered, and pulled her against him, his mouth finding hers.

She gasped at the sensation, the gasp becoming a tiny mewl of pleasure as he brought his free hand up to gently stroke the column of her neck. He had done this before, she was certain. But so had she and she was not jealous as he pressed her against the stone wall, his body flush against hers.

Warmth seized her, a kind of fevered desperation that made her pull gently at his lower lip, a playful nip that had his hands trembling against her. She smiled at that and then lost herself again as he gently touched his tongue to her mouth, inviting her to open to him. And she did, tasting of him, abandoning her sense to the dance of tongues and teeth. She thought of archery for a moment, of battles and the hot-blooded rush that came with them. This was not so different.

Or maybe it was. God, maybe it was, as he dropped her hand and pushed his against her lower back, pressing their bodies impossibly closer. She was drunk on the texture of him, all spun linen and oiled leather with the smell of green things in late summer.

His lips left hers, trailing over her throat, stopping only to pull gently at a sensitive spot, her moan the only indication she wanted him to do so. Her sighs became his name and his mouth was frenzied on her, impatient for something that she was barely conscious enough to be afraid of.

"Susan," he whispered, his breath on her collarbone, and her body surged against the word. Her hips pushed against his, hard, and he groaned, his forehead on her shoulder and his hands tight around her waist.

And then suddenly they were on the ground, her back cool with night-moistened grass and her hands locked with his, held over her head. Her lips burned for his and she was ready to beg, but afraid to. She was willing to offer up her warrior's pride to taste of him again. Somewhere in her mind she knew that she didn't actually know how to ask to be satisfied, that this was a lesson age had never taught her. But she did not have to learn that this night. His lips were already there, insistent and hard. His hands ran down her arms and over her torso and she realized that she wanted him to explore her more thoroughly, more intimately, but was embarrassed to ask. So as his hands brushed hesitantly past her breasts, she arched against him, pushing the soft flesh into his palms and then fell back sighing at the contact.

She looked up at him and saw the rapture there, saw the smoldering want, and whispered his name again.

"Please," she gasped, unsure what she was asking of him, but he must have known because he leaned back over her, his hand still cupping her breast, and kissed her softly, deeply. Yes, she thought blankly. Yes.

And then just as suddenly, the thought was No.

"No," he said, sitting up abruptly.

Secretly she was relieved, but instead she sat up and asked, "What's wrong?"

"This," he said, "this is wrong, Susan." His eyes were sad and she was angry for it. What was wrong? In London, yes, this went far beyond the limits of propriety. But here she was Queen and he was to become King. Here she was old enough to fight battles and to rule a nation. No one questioned that. What she did with her body and her life was her own right.

He seemed startling at the surprising anger in her face. "No," he said. "Not here. This is right and it will continue. It _will_. But _not here._"

She understood immediately and knew in a flash that that was the answer she wanted.

"Tomorrow I shall show you my castle. Is this………….acceptable to you?" The trepidation in his voice brought a smile to her face. And though she never thought of herself as seductive, she watched him gulp at the sight of her grin.

"Of course."

**A/N**

Alright, truth time. I practically killed myself trying to show how hot and exciting a makeout session is when you're young and new at it. But I also wanted to show how nervewracking it would be for them too. I've never read a fic and honestly believed that they have no fear or inadequacy or anything. It's like, sex, immediately. No worries.

Yeah, sorry folks, that doesn't happen.

And I'm sure not everyone will agree that I've assumed they've both been kissed before. I know we all love Suspian, or Casue if you prefer, but she lived in Narnia for quite some time. And he's a Prince. Doesn't seem at all likely they've never done their fair share of smoochin'. ha ha ha ha ha ha.

Thoughts? Dislikes? Questions? Throw 'em at me!!


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N**

Okay folks, I managed to beat the Muse into submission and crank out another chapter. I had a hard time with this one. I didn't want to write another chapter of just sexual tension and making out and the like. So I tried my best to add a little depth to this one.

For perhaps the hundredth time that morning, Caspian smoothed his hands over his doublet, ironing out the imaginary wrinkles in the blue brocade fabric. He wanted to look perfect and had studiously examined himself in every reflective surface he could find. No mirror, spoon, window or sword had been safe from his reflection as he rearranged a stray hair, straightened his collar, bent to remove a smudge from his boots.

And each time, he'd felt ridiculous for doing it.

But he wanted this day to be perfect. When he'd mentioned to High King Peter that they should relocate to his castle, Peter had agreed, on one condition; he requested a week to tend to the wounded and to allow time for Caspian to prepare his city for a celebration. He'd said it would be wise for Caspian to show his people that he accepted the Old Narnian rulers with joy and not begrudgingly. Certainly this would make them much more inclined to follow his example and obey the new thrones. The wisdom in that humbled him. Peter seemed born to lead. Impetuous and headstrong though he was, he knew how best to handle his subjects. Caspian knew there was much to learn from one who seemed so young.

So the "tomorrow" he'd told Susan to prepare for became a week. But he'd not had time to miss her. A thousand tasks occupied him. All the linens were washed, the windows opened, the pantry stocked, and meals prepared. He'd chosen rooms for each of the Kings and Queens. For Peter he chose a room near the stables, decorated with lions in red and gold. For Edmund, he'd found a beautiful carved chess set and put it in the room closest the armory, swords and axes that had fought Telmar's greatest battles hung on the walls. For Lucy, the room which faced the wildflower field. And for Susan……………..

He had yet to decide upon a room. Each one he pondered over fell short of perfection. This one had too many windows-it was certainly indefensible. This one was too far from her family. This one was much too far from _him._

He agonized over it for the better part of two days before he remembered his mother's rooms.

Before he'd discovered his courage on a Narnian battlefield, he'd allowed his Uncle to do what he chose with the castle and the kingdom. But his Uncle's scheming had never run so deep so as to allow him to change the rooms of his brother's wife. And as Caspian remembered them, he knew immediately that the room did not exist that better suited Queen Susan.

He had never known his mother, but he thought perhaps she and Susan were alike; proud, intelligent, fiercely capable, but with the tiniest glint of fragility. At his side with a bow, he could see none of the gentleness that was her namesake. But in that exquisite shy moment when she stood waiting for him to hand her her discarded gown, he'd found the innocence and purity that had been granted her as a title. And when desire brightened eyes had stared up at him, begging for………_him_, he knew he'd spend the rest of his life trying to become the man she made him feel that he was.

"Do you need something, Sire?"

A woman's confused voice woke him from his reverie. Chagrinned, he realized he was standing in the servants' wing and could not remember why he'd gone there. Something to with the Queen……..

"My mother's rooms," he stammered, remembering what had brought him here. "Can they be made ready for the Queen?"

"Ready, Sire? The rooms are cleaned if that is what my Lord means."

A slow smile spread over his face.

"Come with me," he said and shared his plan as they went.

Two hours later, fully and smugly satisfied with himself, he tapped his toes impatiently on the stone steps of the castle. From far off he could hear the commotion of the approaching Kings and Queens . His people carried flowers and wore tentative and hopeful smiles. When a row of ironclad Centaurs rounded the corner carrying the banners of Old Narnia, a cheer went up in voices human and Creature. Caspian could only smile at the awed and delighted faces of his people as sword-bearing Mice joined Fauns and Dwarves and sleek Cats. Only weeks earlier his new subjects had been nothing but the subject of fairytales. He was pleased to join in the wonder of his people. But he fervently hoped that they would learn to forget the mythology and accept the Old Narnians as equals. A spark of anxiety flashed through him at the thought. There would surely be problems in the efforts to make the new Narnia a melting pot.

But there was no time for such thoughts. Trumpets cut the air with their blast and the Kings and Queens approached. Peter wore the crown of High King atop a gray stallion whose size and lack of saddle told Caspian that this was a Horse, a Creature he'd not been privileged to witness yet. Edmund, too, wore a crown, but he managed to seem as though he wore none. The smile on his face was honest, open, maybe even vaguely mocking, as if he would rather be walking alongside the Centaurs than atop a beribboned horse. Lucy was next to him, a circlet of flowers on her forehead and the smile that made people instantly love her wide on her face, crinkling her nose and showing white teeth. Sometimes Caspian found himself thinking that it was Lucy who was best fit to rule this nation. And when the Narnian and Telmarines looked her, he knew they felt the same.

And there was Susan. The word resplendent instantly came to mind, so shining and beautiful he could practically taste the letters. She rode a chestnut Mare and wore a gown the color of honey held up to sunlight. Her hair fell in waves over her shoulders, caught by a thin silver circlet and he felt his hands twitch, desperate to touch it. Had her lips always been that full, so berry-colored? They curved in that small, slightly mischievous, stately smile she always wore and he found that he could not stop looking at them, **remembering** them.

He felt for a moment that he must surely have died because there was simply no way he could have survived a week without moments as intense as this one.

He stood straight and tall as the four ascended the steps. And when they'd reached him, he smiled and dropped to one knee before standing and accepting the High King's offered hand. He clasped it tightly and turned to the waiting crowd.

"We of Telmar humbly and gratefully welcome the Kings and Queens of Narnia."

The crowd immediately roared its approval but Peter raised one hand to quiet them.

"And we of Narnia are proud to become a part of a new united nation."

Now the people cried out in force and the five rulers smiled with them, genuinely enjoying a moment that was sure to be fleeting. Caspian chose this moment to look at Susan and found that she was looking at him too. For an instant that terrified him, he saw nothing he could read in her eyes. But then Lucy grabbed her hand, a knowing and impish smile on her face, and she jumped, her cheeks turning rose-colored.

That was enough for him.

He chose well for the Kings and for Queen Lucy. Peter gave his room only a passing glance before heading directly to the stables. Edmund had entered the room, muttered an enthusiastic "yeah" under his breath, and pulled a pair of short swords off the wall immediately. Lucy had run directly to the window and then pounced happily upon Caspian with a dozen thank yous offered directly into his ear.

And then there was only Susan.

She was smiling, waiting, and he found that his mouth had gone dry. He'd chosen wrong, he was certain. She was going to hate the room and everything he'd done to it.

But there was nothing to be done for it now.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"Of course," she said.

He thought briefly about taking her hand, wanted to terribly. But he'd told no one about what had passed between them and was not certain that she had either. There would be time later to decide if there was something to announce. But not now. Now he was opening the door to her room and saying a small prayer that she would not think it ridiculous.

But then he saw her eyes widen, heard her gasp and whisper, "Oh Caspian!" and the fear disappeared.

"Do you like it?" he asked, knowing the answer as she rushed into the room, her hands running over the white silk hangings which covered the walls.

"It's perfect," she sighed as she walked to the immense bookshelves and pulled a book at random from them.

"They are histories of Telmar and Narnia, the time you have missed," he said, crossing the room to stand beside her. "I thought you might want to……….."

"This is exactly what I wanted, Caspian," she interrupted, turning to him. "Thank you."

It was a kiss of gratitude, quick and meaningless. But he knew she was testing him so he cupped a hand behind her head before she could pull away and kissed her properly.

The book fell to the floor unnoticed and her hands immediately found their way to his chest, fisting into the linen he'd so meticulously straightened all day. Somehow, he was not upset at the wrinkles she was sure to be putting into it as she sighed happily into his mouth. This kiss was different than the others. There was no rush, no desperation, no frantic scrabbling at clothes and flesh.

And he realized that this was the way he wanted to make love to her. Soft and sweet and fully aware of every movement.

It was a revelation, frightening and exciting. But he pushed the thought aside, knowing that if such a thing were to happen, she would decide. So he cradled her face in his hands and placed kisses on her forehead, eyelids, the tip of her nose, leaving not an inch of porcelain skin untouched. And when he at last pulled back to look at her, she was smiling.

"I should go," he whispered, and she nodded.

"Will I see you tonight?" she asked. "Can I meet you somewhere?"

"I will see you at dinner. And I will miss you until then," he said, and leaned in to offer one last gentle kiss. "Goodbye."

He wondered as he left when he'd become such a starstruck romantic. He was still chuckling to himself as he walked from her room, already impatient for the sun to set and to see her again.

**A/N**

Now, I abhor cheesiness. ABHOR it. But I also remember what it feels like when you first fall in love. It is incredibly cheesy. That's what I was trying to capture here.

Thoughts??

And I swear to god, the citrus is coming.


	4. Chapter 4

The silk hangings in her room were silver with moonlight, as they had been for hours, but still she could not manage to fall asleep. There was a cool breeze blowing through the open windows. It feathered over her skin and she imagined that its scent of grass and stone and dew-wet wildflowers was leaving her saturated with the wild perfume of the outdoors. The thought was thrilling and silly and so unlike her that she bit back the urge to laugh aloud.

She'd tried reading, sitting on the windowsill and watching the play of Griffens above, tried humming lullabies to herself, which she was perfectly aware made little sense. She'd even tired forcing sleep, not moving or opening her eyes until it came. But nothing worked. Her skin crawled with nervous energy out of which dark thoughts sometimes appeared like phantoms. She could not clear her mind of the possibility of returning to plaid skirts and tall socks, with no hope of crowns and silks and happiness.

And a man whose voice and hands stole sleep from her like a thief.

Just the thought of him, and of losing him, made her turn over, her hands clutching the pillow fiercely. He'd been so handsome at diner, so bright and happy with her brothers and sister. And with her. He was all mirth. There was none of the heavy-browed look he'd worn so often during the recent conflict. Now his face was transformed in a way that made her body light up from within. She felt like a firefly and wanted to run her fingers over his upturned lips, the line of his jaw, his cheekbones.

And she'd known in that moment that it was not just desire that turned her belly warm at the thought. And that was even more terrifying. If this was the start of love, how could she ever leave it behind?

She shivered in the white chemise she'd put on before climbing into bed, less cold than struck by a need to do……..something.

Her feet were on the floor before she knew she'd decided to get up. The stone was cold on her bare feet but she stopped only to wrap a cloak over her shoulders, not thinking of anything but him as she pushed the door open. The guard outside eyed her briefly, but she shook her head gently at him, leaving him behind as she hurried down the hall.

When he'd discovered that sleep was going to elude him for the foreseeable future, he'd asked that a bath be drawn for him. The hot water was sure to relax him enough that he could at least rest, if not actually sleep. The servants had even left a goblet and pitcher full of something sweet-smelling and certainly fermented. He poured himself some, tasted honeyed-wine, and then stepped into the steaming water.

He willed his mind to be blank as he sank into the heat, his arms coming up to rest on the side of the stone basin. But it refused. Always he saw green eyes and freckled cheeks; creamy skin and a very slightly crooked smile. It was pointless to resist when that moment by the river had left every inch of her etched indelibly into his brain. The hollow in her throat, the perfect hourglass of her waist, the length of her legs, the shape of her breasts. He could not forget it or the texture of her under his hands.

Knowing that these reveries were unavoidable he allowed himself to fall deeply into thoughts of her. But he knew even as he did so that the feelings were complex. Part of him wanted to possess her fully, physically, and it was this part that would not allow his mind to leave thoughts of her body. But the deeper part, his heart, wanted to be part of her, to share his past with her and talk as equals. He wanted her to teach him to be a King and beloved ruler as she so obviously was. He wanted to stay up late into the night arguing over something they would forget later and laugh about in the morning. He wanted to shake off the quivering shyness of infatuation and become comfortable with her.

He wanted love.

He growled low in his throat at his mind's lovesick ramblings and muttered, "Caspian, you are a fool," before submerging himself fully in the cooling water.

He sat up, wiping water from his eyes, and realized that the bath had proved far less relaxing than he'd hoped. With a sigh, he stood and stepped from the basin, wrapping a cloth about his hips as he did so.

He was shaking water from his hair when he stepped into his bedchamber and realized she was already there waiting.

She'd known as soon as she entered his room that he was bathing. The air was thick with warm moisture and the soft scent of soap and oils. It would have been the perfect opportunity to leave. She could pretend she'd never come, that she hadn't allowed fear and passion and emotion to propel her to his room in the dead of night. But just this once she did not want to catalogue the pros and cons and make a rational decision. Just this once she wanted to let go and _feel_.

So she waited. And when he walked into the room, nearly naked and glistening with bath water, she forced rationality away. The rational response was to flee from the room, casting apologies over her shoulder on the way. The rational response was to gather her cloak around her, to shield herself from his eyes. But the emotional response was to drop the cloak and go to him.

So that's what she did. It took two heartbeats to stand close enough to feel the heat from his body and only one more to press her lips to his. She let her hands roam over the hard planes of his chest and shoulders, intoxicated with the warmth of his bare skin. His heart thundered under her palms and she felt the rumble there as he groaned and pulled her body closer to his, his lips trailing down her neck.

There were fireworks in her body, pinwheels of exploding color that she was sure he could taste through her skin. The sensation made her body bend like a bow, her hips writhing into his and she could feel every line of his body, hard through the thin material around his waist. It was thrilling, terrifying.

Perfect.

His name became an incantation on her lips, a prayer, and she found herself swept up, her legs wrapping around him without a conscious thought. And then there was softness under her body, down that smelled of his skin. She was trembling, her insides thrumming with a feeling she'd never before experienced.

"Susan," he said, his voice a sudden call to reality. "This need only go as far as you with it to."

His voice was hesitant, concerned, and she smiled at it.

"What do _you_ want, Caspian?" she asked, her voice low.

"You."

She did not respond, let her body answer instead. She brought her knee up to brace his hip, her gown sliding up, baring her thigh, and took his hand and led it to her knee.

He was drowning in sensation as he slid his hand over her knee and down, down, the soft flesh of her thigh firm and smooth under his touch. She was fairly writhing beneath him and he had to bite back the urge to tear the flimsy gown off her body and bury himself inside her. A moment as profound as this one would not be so easily wasted and he leaned down, one hand still teasing her leg, and pressed kisses to her throat, her pulse like a butterfly under his lips, and then lower, over her collarbone and lower, to the gentle slope of her breasts. She smelled of lavender and tasted like spring water and sighed like a waterfall as he pressed his cheek to her breast. He wanted to feel her skin, taste it, and she did not protest as he worked the chemise up her body and over her head.

It did not make a sound when it hit the floor.

This was rapture, pure and certain bliss, as his lips closed over her nipple, gentle pressure bring her back off the bed. Her dress was somewhere on the floor, a forgotten heap of fabric, and she was not embarrassed. He'd seen her before and somehow that was slightly disappointing. She felt like a wrapped present whose contents were already known. But his eyes were fire when he looked at her and the disappointment melted as fast as it had appeared. Her hands grabbed at his back, nails sure to be making marks as he gave attention to the other breast, his hand tracing patterns on her inner thigh. She found herself wanting that hand higher, felt her center pulsing with some need she wasn't sure how to satisfy.

But maybe he did. His fingers were deft, finding that place that made her cry out and pull his lips down to hers, kisses hot and demanding and somehow soft. There was urgency here but no rush. He was savoring her and she loved the closeness and wanted more. Her hands glided down his back and took hold of the loose fabric about his hips. She grabbed his eyes with hers, and pulled it off.

He struggled not to turn from her as her eyes openly evaluated what she had so suddenly uncovered. But he saw only hunger there, only want, and he whispered her name, wanting to say something more, afraid that she would not want to hear it. But her name turned to a moan as she tilted her hips up and he could feel the wet heat of her against the hardness of him.

He bit the inside of his lip to keep control and looked down at her. She was smiling, her eyes shining, and she reached up to trail a hand over his cheek.

"Tell me this means something, Caspian, that I'm not just the girl you saw by the river," she said, her hands exploring his shoulders and chest.

"You have always been my Queen," he said, a soft kiss punctuating his words. "But now you will always be _Susan._"

That was enough for her. The words were not love but maybe they _were_ and it just was not the time to say them openly. Now was the time to be kissed deeply, to feel him intimately against her and to rock into that sensation. This was a dance to which they did not know the steps, but neither was ashamed. She moaned at the push of him against her center and wanted more. She reached between their bodies and wrapped her hand around him, relishing his gasp.

She could not pretend not to be in pain as she guided him inside, could not hide the way she grabbed at the bedcovers and turned her head to the side. But he turned her face back to him and held her eyes as he found his way deeply into her. It was a strange sensation, aching and new. But it was an ache that made her want movement and when he withdrew, she chased his hips with hers, gasping in shock at the foreign sensation. She watched his face as he moved within her, saw the reverence and awe there, and gasped his name.

Her hands pulled at his shoulders, his back, his chest, and she cried out as he hooked a hand behind her knee and brought it up around his waist. There was a sick sweet rise starting in her belly, something totally new that intensified with each thrust. And when he brought his mouth to her breast it wound tighter in her. On impulse, she rocked her hips with his and found that the motion made his eyes shut tight and her insides tighten harder, toward…………………something.

She wanted to focus on the feeling, wanted to realize fully the depth of what was happening and what it could mean. But there was only the push and pull of their bodies, the closeness and raw emotion. She wanted to tell him how intense the feelings were, how much she felt like she no longer had her own body but was just an extension of his. But there were no words.

And then something changed. He was moving faster and she was arching over the coiling in her belly, her hips no longer able to keep up with his. And then……………and then….

He fought the urge to let go, fought everything inside. And then something changed. Her body was clenching around him and she was moaning his name, eyes shut tight. And he could hold out no longer, releasing into the warmth of her, shuddering and dying a little at the white-hot flash of intense pleasure.

Moments later, he lay atop her, his body spent and his mind racing. She wasn't saying anything and it frightened him so he pushed himself off of her, reaching for the blanket at the edge of the bed to cover them both.

"Please don't leave," he said, reaching up to stroke her cheek.

"I won't," she said, her eyelids drooping.

But inside she wondered if she really could stay. She wondered if the last moments were only an elaborate goodbye.

Inside she knew that it was so much more. That it was love. And she almost said it. Almost.

But she couldn't. So she curled her body into his and allowed herself, finally, to drift off into sleep.

**A/N**

Thoughts? This was a killer to write. First times are never exactly this fairy tale, but who wants to read that?


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N**

**Geez louise, it's been a while, huh? I'm sorry for that. I've included a lemon to try to make you all love me again. And I'm hoping that the angst won't turn you guys off.**

Chapter 5

He woke to shining sun and down covers and a soft warm body curled against him. Smiling, a touch terrified, he turned to look at the Queen who was so thoroughly warming his side. There were lines etched into her cheek, pillow creases, and her mouth hung open, her hair mussed about her face.

She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

He pushed himself up on an elbow and watched her, her body curling in on itself at his absence. Slowly, so as not to wake her, he ran calloused fingers over her cheek and neck, her shoulder, and leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead. Her eyelids fluttered open at the contact and she mumbled a 'good morning' as a sleepy smile crinkled her already sleep-crinkled cheek.

He watched, shocked and enraptured, as she unfurled her body, stretching like a cat, the cover falling away from her. His eyes had only a moment to rake over her before she was awake enough to realize her state and snatched the covers up to her chin. How young she seemed, and was, with her eyes wide and her hair disheveled. He felt a moment of guilt for what they'd shared, feeling as though he'd stolen something from one too young to choose. But then he remembered how long she'd truly lived, how many people she'd ruled, and the guilt vanished, leaving only desire and affection in its wake.

Slowly, but without remorse, he pulled the cover from her grasping hands.

"Let me look at you," he said and she tensed.

"But you've already seen."

"Yes," he said, leaning down to kiss her. "But now I want to _look_."

Her eyes widened at that and turned smoky but she uncurled her fingers and let him drag the covers away. The morning sun turned her pale skin golden and he did not pretend shame at his open interest in her and let his fingers trace every curve and hollow and rise on her body. She giggled as his hands traced her ribs and he arched her eyebrow at that.

"Are you ticklish, my Queen?" he asked, all seriousness.

"No," she said, her eyes darting from his.

He dragged his fingertips over her sides in a whispery touch and watched as she squirmed, her face desperate to stay still.

"No?" he asked again.

"No."

He quirked an eyebrow at that and then dug his fingers into her sides mercilessly, enchanted by her giggles. She fought his hands and thrashed on the bed, shrieking and giggling. Here is the Gentle Queen, he thought, though his breath whooshed out of him as her flailing elbow caught him in the stomach. She was unguarded and fiercely happy, laughter ringing in the stone walls of his room. Their ancient stone would protect them from listening ears, he was sure and he attacked her belly and arms, the arch of her foot, her knees.

Her legs kicked in the air and he ducked them with mirth, grinning like a child. But when her thrashing threw a thigh over his hip and her upper body flush against his, all traces of childishness disappeared and he growled low in his throat. His hands reached for her face, tickling forgotten, and he kissed her lightly, sure that she could feel the growing hardness of him pressed against her. She was blushing, the color of a rose, when he pulled back and he felt a surge of embarrassment.

"I am sorry, Susan," he mumbled, already moving to untangle their bodies. But she'd already put a hand to his lips to quiet him.

"I want you too, Caspian," she whispered, "only I'm not sure what to do."

The moment of blushing honesty froze him in place. And in the early morning light, their bodies both glowing, he was certain he loved her. And he was certain she loved him too. She wanted him, he could tell from her heartbeat and her breaths. But she trusted him enough to admit her own ignorance. It was staggering. Earth-shaking.

And again he wanted to make love to her.

He was poised to turn their bodies, to place her beneath him, when suddenly she rose up on her knees and settled herself into his lap, unfurling her legs around his back. He closed his eyes at the sensation of her, how the moist warmth of her body pressed against him and he fought the urge to rock into it. He opened his eyes and looked into hers. He expected to find shyness, trepidation even, but there was neither. She was smiling languidly, confident, even smug as she leaned into him, her palms rubbing into his chest. He was suddenly proud of the hard muscle there, proud that he had a body she could admire and then felt foolish and young for thinking that way.

Slowly she began to roll her hips against him, leaning in to bite gently at his neck and shoulder. It was torture, delicious and painful, for her to be so near and yet to deny him. He was panting now, her name slowly slipping from his lips.

"Do you need something, Caspian?" she purred, her mouth working over his earlobe, though her voice was raw with desire.

"Yes," he panted, his hand clutching the delicate span of her waist.

"Tell me what you want," she whispered, her body pushing into his.

"Susan, please let me be inside you. Please." He was begging, he knew. But he could not be ashamed, not when her fingers were wrapping around the length of him, squeezing gently, as she lifted her body up and sank back down onto him.

"Gods, Susan," he groaned at the heavy push of her, tight and hot around him.

"Will you guide me, Caspian?" she gasped, her hands crushing into his shoulders.

He did not spare a moment to question that, did not even consider the fact that he knew no more than she did. But years on horseback had not taught him nothing, so he slowly lay back, ready to die at the shifting press of her inner flesh, and gripped her hips, lifting her a little and then rocking her downward. The sensation was murderously painful in its pleasure and the sight of her above him, back arched, her full breasts bouncing with the motion of their bodies, brought him feverishly close to completion. Not yet, he thought, not yet, as she rocked on her own, shivering and moaning.

For an eternity they moved this way, slow shallow thrusts that drove him mad. And then suddenly her lips were crashing into his, and she was gasping into his lips.

"Caspian, I need……I need to…" The words were breathy, incomprehensible. But he knew because his body was screaming for release, too.

She cried out as he flipped their bodies and drove into her, hard. Her eyes shut tight as she winced and he felt shame for a moment that he'd not considered the newness of this. But he could not stop. Could not. He crushed her body to his and let go, sliding himself in and out hard enough to shake her in his iron grasp.

And yet somehow, between her high mewling cries, he heard, "Caspian, please, harder."

Her nails dug into his back, into stripes already raw from the night before, and he growled, gripping her hips and answering her demand.

And then she was there, her body clenching around him like a fist and he let the white-hot lightning of climax take him, desperately happy that she'd found her release first.

He let the aftershocks of her climax flutter around him until he could bear no more and he fell, careful not to crush her with his weight. She turned to him, eyes bright, and gently ran a hand over his cheek. An eternity passed in a moment and he asked, "Do you feel guilty?"

"No," she answered quietly. "Do you?"

"No."

"Perhaps you will when my brother Peter finds out," she said, a touch of laughter in her voice.

" 'When' he finds out, my Queen?" As soon as the words left his mouth he regretted them. Her face was instantly a mask.

"Oh I see, " she said, quietly. "Our little secret."

"Susan, you misunderstand," he said, remorse in his tone. "I will ask the High King permission to court you. But I doubt you'd like me to do so by saying, 'High King Peter, I have made love to your sister, on more than one occasion, and would not like permission to court her.' "

He was gratified to see her smile.

"No," she said, "I suppose that would not do at all. Is that what you want, Caspian? Do you want to seek my hand? It could be complicated. Only Aslan knows when I shall have to leave again."

The confusion in his face must have been because she continued, "I did not choose to go home last time. What if I'm sent away again?"

He watched the tears pool under her lashes and he felt fear wash over him.

"My Queen, I can only hope that Aslan's kindness is enough that he would not separate love."

She looked up in surprise at the word and opened her mouth to speak when there was an insistent knock at the door.

"Yes?" he called, not sure that whoever was at the door was quite prepared to see him in his current state.

"Caspian! The day's half gone and there's work to do! Get up and let's go!" King Edmund's voice was cheerful but insistent.

He turned to Susan, knowing there was more to be said.

"Through the wardrobe is a hall to your room. He'll be looking for you next." He dropped a kiss on her lips. "You should go."

He watched as she hastily shrugged into her nightgown and then smiled as she turned to him before stepping through the wardrobe. And though she smiled back, the smile did not quite reach her eyes.

The silhouette of her was almost gone when he rushed towards her and took her hand.

"Susan," he said, taking her hand and pulling her against him. "I love you, Susan." He crushed his lips to hers, desperate and afraid.

"I love you too, Caspian," she answered. "At least, I think I do. And that's what scares me."

The words echoed in his head long after she'd gone.

**A/N **

**Tell me what you think. I live for reviews.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N**

**Guys, I've gotten tons of story alerts and favs since I posted the last chapter and it made me feel so intensely guilty that I left you waiting so long. I'll do my best to beat the muse into submission now. Since the dvd has come out, that shouldn't be too difficult. I plan to wrap this story up in a few chapters.**

**No citrus here. But there are important plot points.  
**

Her head still echoed with the last words Caspian had spoken as she walked swiftly towards her rooms. In a rumpled nightdress and robe, she wanted nothing more than to find her way there unseen by questioning eyes who would be sure to gossip, sure to tell everyone that the Queen had not slept in her own bed that night. And yet somehow, she could not find it in herself to feel shame over what she'd shared with Caspian. The decision had been sudden, but not careless. She'd given him the one thing she'd never before shared with no promise of a future with him. But the ghost of his touch shivered over her skin and the love he'd offered danced in her mind.

So when she opened the door to her rooms it took her a moment before she realized that her brother Peter was standing at her window, arms crossed and spine straight.

She chose not to speak first. Anything she said would sound empty or conciliatory. So she waited. She didn't wait long.

"I came to your room last night. You'd seemed so troubled."

He turned to face her, worry and anger marking sharp lines under his eyes. "You weren't here, Susan. And I've heard the mutterings. Were you with him?"

"Yes," she whispered but she held his eyes confidently.

He sighed, deeply, and moved to sit on the edge of her bed. She felt the lecture he was about to begin and stayed where she was, her neck hard and her fingers trembling.

"Susan, you can't just……this isn't home. You're a Queen here. You have to be above suspicion."

"I know that you're angry but don't you dare talk to me like an underling, _High King Peter_," she spit, her words coated with venom. "I am not a child. I knew what I was doing."

"You did, did you? How could you possibly? How do you know he isn't just like any other besotted royal who wants your throne? Or like the boys in school with their quick hands?" The words stung like bees and for a dreadful moment she felt the anxiety they carried swarm up in her throat. But then she remembered his love and she swallowed.

"Peter, I know how frightened you are. Another moment and all this could disappear. I'm frightened too. But now, I've more to lose than I've ever lost before. I could feel it slipping away from me, Peter. I could feel him slipping away. So I went to him."

She could feel him stretch away from her at her honesty, could feel his disapproval and disbelief. But he wanted to know.

"I know what this sounds like to you. But it wasn't a snap decision. You and I have shared two lifetimes. You know me."

She sat next to him and took his hand, but he was rigid.

"I'm surprised at you, Sue," he said, his blond hair falling forward into his eyes as he shook his head. "And I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to find that long-haired princeling and throttle him within an inch of his life."

She laughed a little at that and then sobered. "He told me he loves me, Peter. He told me so after we'd made love. Doesn't that count for something?"

His eyes widened at the admission.

"If I can't share this with you, Peter, who can I share it with? Lucy? She'd never understand. Edmund? He'd threaten to murder Caspian, although I suppose you just did as well. You're my brother, Peter. And I feel so dreadfully alone."

She saw him struggle for a moment, trying to reconcile being her best friend and her brother. What she was sharing was personal, on a level that went beyond his sense of propriety. But she needed him to understand. She needed him to be afraid _with_ her.

"I'm sorry, Sue. I know this isn't London and you have a right to…..make your own decisions," he sighed and looked up at her, concerned. "Are you………….did he hurt you?"

She saw what the question cost him, saw the embarrassment and discomfort in the coloring of his skin. "No Peter," she smiled. "He didn't."

"Well," he was instantly gruff, "that's good."

He stood and made to leave her room, "Oh God, will he be coming to ask my permission to court you?"

She laughed, feeling the pressure in the room dispel. "Yes Peter, I'm sure he will."

She couldn't be sure, but as he walked from the room, she could have sworn she heard him say, "Well, better late than never I suppose."

* * *

She was loathe to bathe away the scent of him, the pattern of it like lace across her skin, but bathe she did and even subjected herself to the torture of bodices as her maids dressed her for the day. She chose a blue the color of a new Telmarine and Narnian sky, with sleeves white and shapely to her wrists. She asked the maids to leave her hair loose, remembering that he liked it that way and even darkened her lashes with the tiniest touch of kohl. She couldn't be sure she'd see him alone at any moment during what was sure to be a frantically busy day, as all the others before it had been. But if she did, she wanted to look beautiful for him. She wanted to **be** beautiful for him.

A touch of lavender at her wrists and neck and now even the maids were smiling knowingly at her. And for once, instead of rolling her eyes impatiently, she allowed herself to giggle lightly with them, the tiny chiming sound frightening away all her anxieties for one soft effervescent moment.

She knew that they knew she was in love.

She left them, then, going to join her brother in the courtyard and was surprised to see him standing solemnly alongside Aslan, the god and protector. He always seemed so effortlessly powerful, even next to the High King of Narnia, his mane full and gold in the sunlight. And for a moment, the dread of her fears collapsed onto her shoulders with a weight that made her bones creak in a way she did not understand. The confusion made the fear that much worse.

Was it now? Would the courtyard turn shabby and cold and gray and her gown turn to plaid and wool?

She wanted to pray, so desperately. But her fears centered on the lion-god who always before had received her prayers. She felt mute with fear.

Peter turned to her, his eyes sad and so old she withered under them. "Sue, Aslan has something to say to us."

**A/N**

**I know that one's short. I was going to write straight through to what we know Aslan says based on the story/movie but I felt like that would clutter the plot. And honestly, I'm not sure what I'm going to do to them yet. **

**Reviews are my love. And nothing gets the muse workin' like reviews!!!  
**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N**

**How can you guys ever forgive me? It's been nearly a year since I updated this story. I've never fallen out of love with it or with you guys, but I just could never make it happen. Today I was so overcome with finishing the story that I wrote this.**

**It's short. I realize that. But I'm going to keep writing on through to the next chapter. I hope to upload it soon. **

_You must go home._

Susan heard the words, saw Aslan form them from his whiskered mouth. But she did not _hear_ them. Could not.

Would not.

Barely had she had time to drop a curtsy to the lion-god and he was confirming her worst fears. She shattered at the idea, felt herself fall apart into bloodied pricking shards. Peter was grasping her hand, concern in his eyes, but her lungs would not expand. She was frozen.

The two kings had already begun to walk ahead, the marble columns of Caspian's castle casting dark shadows over them in stripes, before she forced her feet to propel her forward, each step knocking her bones to pieces.

"There is nothing more for you to learn here. The young King must learn to govern a peaceful new land alone."

The words froze her in place again, this time with rage. How nonchalantly Aslan destroyed her future, her happiness. How easy it was for him to take everything she wanted and dash it to the ground. She felt angry words simmering in her throat, words she would regret later and she swallowed hard as Peter gripped her hand.

"Aslan, you _can't," _she said, the words cracking as tears made her vision swim.

His eyes were soft, confused as he looked at her and said, "I can't? Susan, why can't I?"

The words were not antagonizing. She saw his face transform with care as the tears made their way down her cheeks and her chest trembled.

"I cannot go back, Aslan. Please don't make me go back." The words were rushed, nearly incoherent and she shuddered, suddenly cold and sick as her stomach roiled with panic.

She felt his breath fan over her face and neck, her hair blowing backwards as he leaned into her and then whispered, "Ah. I thought so."

She looked up to find his eyes trained on her and she felt a flush of embarrassment. But he was not judging her. She could tell. Instead there was sympathy on his massive face and that did nothing to quell the rising tide of fear in her.

"You've fallen in love with him. This was not unexpected."

She felt Peter drop her hand and take a step away at Aslan's words, attempting to give her privacy in his slight distance.

"If you knew it would happen," she gasped, "why are you sending me away?"

"I have told you, Susan. You have nothing more to learn here. Caspian must grow into a king and he must do so alone."

The words did not leave much room for discussion but still she pressed him. "Nothing more to learn? Aslan, what of love? What of marriage and growth and old age? I could learn those lessons here, _with_ Caspian."

"My dear, you are making this harder than it need be. This is not your world and it never has been. _It never will be._"

Though the words crushed her spine she whispered, "But what if we have made a child?" It was her last hope, her last chance and she knew it.

"Oh, Susan," he sighed gently. "You haven't."


End file.
